


Singing in the Rain

by Pseudopaws (Yuripaws)



Series: Singin' In The Rain [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Mood Swings, Morning Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-11-11 14:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11150499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuripaws/pseuds/Pseudopaws
Summary: Yuuri doesn't understand Viktor's moods, but he'll do anything to see him through them.





	Singing in the Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring Viktor with mental illnesses has always been something I've wanted to do.
> 
> Disclaimer that I have mental illnesses, no need to come at me.

He opens his eyes to mornings skies, cloudy and dull and blue. There’s a storm brewing. 

So early?

Yes.

There’s a storm, a whirling gale, and the clouds are full to bursting. But there’s a stillness. The calm before the storm.

Yuuri is caught in the eye of a tempest.

He reaches out slowly. Cautiously. The room is a deepening blush, glowing in the soft light of the newly-risen sun. But Yuuri only has eyes for blue skies.

They’re still. So still. A storm is brewing, but they’re so very still. Yuuri is frightened, but he won’t show it. Nothing will ever make him show it.

“Viktor?”

He speaks so gently that his voice hardly reaches his own ears, but what he does hear is the sound of distant thunder as Viktor’s eyes flick to his.

A silence falls thickly. Yuuri’s hand finally reaches its mark. His fingers brush against Viktor’s jaw tentatively, and when this draws no reaction, he lets them wander. Slowly. Gently. His thumb brushes his cheek, and the skin is so soft and warm that Yuuri feels like melting. But he shivers. He shivers because Viktor is so alive, but his eyes are so dead.

“Viktor?”

Yuuri’s a little louder now, but just barely so. Still, Viktor hasn’t moved. Yuuri’s fingers run along his face gingerly, tracing over curves and planes. The high cheekbones, the straight and narrow nose, soft creases at the corner of his eyes, thin eyebrows, delicate eyelids and long lashes. Silvery and fluttering, like the lining of a cloud. They stand out starkly against a darkening blue glaze.

“Vitya?”

Viktor’s gaze wavers. Something flickers. Yuuri holds his breath. But Viktor still doesn’t respond. He sighs softly, closing his eyes.

Viktor gets like this sometimes. Yuuri doesn’t understand why.

He doesn’t understand why Viktor sometimes comes barreling through like a hurricane, needing to see and do everything at once, brimming with something wild and electric. His laughter is high and infectious, and Yuuri lets him sweep him away into worlds unknown. He'll follow, no matter what.

He doesn’t understand the sudden and sullen anger. The need to be alone. The inability to speak. Vocal cords cut like power lines, fizzling into nothing. Viktor’s entire body is a live wire, twitching and tense and waiting. Yuuri lets him burn himself out, because that's what he really needs.

He doesn’t understand why he cries. Why he shakes. He doesn’t understand his nightmares. Sometimes he literally cannot understand--Viktor’s speech patterns are an unreliable forecast; partly cloudy but always sunny. Highs and lows fluctuating at an alarming rate.

“Zolotse?”

Something flickers again.

Sometimes Viktor only responds when Yuuri speaks Russian. Yuuri isn’t very good yet, but he knows which words are Viktor’s favorites. These are words that drip from his lips like honey, familiar and soothing and sweet. Yuuri can and will repeat them for as long as it takes, even if it takes forever. He’ll lose his tongue to sugar if it means clearing the salt from Viktor’s wounds.

Viktor likes to be called cute things. Little animals. My little fish, my little mouse, my little bunny. Yuuri likes to compare him to the sun, the stars, anything gold and gleaming and warm. Zolotse. My gold.

Viktor likes this one the most, because it reminds him of Yuuri’s eyes.

His lips part, his eyes still glazed. They move again, trailing from Yuuri’s face down to the arm reaching out towards him. Yuuri watches with bated breath as Viktor turns his head slowly, leaning his face into the palm still cupped against it. Yuuri’s fingers scratch towards his hair gently, and Viktor closes his eyes.

“Yuuri.”

So soft.

So sad.

Yuuri’s breath leaves him in a rush as he moves forward, and his hands are in Viktor’s beautiful silver hair now, the strands soft between his fingers, and Viktor shivers. Yuuri thinks he hears a small whimper.

He can smell the tears before they fall. They smell like soil before the rain comes. His lips move to catch raindrops on his tongue, but he isn’t fast enough, and they come down harder, slipping away from him. Viktor starts to shake.

“Pozhaluysta, ne plach.”

But it’s a whispered plea that Viktor doesn’t seem to hear. But that doesn’t bother Yuuri. He knows that there’s nothing he can do to make the tears stop. The only thing he can do is be here to catch them.

He pulls Viktor closer to him, praying that he’ll cooperate. Sometimes he doesn’t want to. But Viktor is pliant, and Yuuri takes him deep into his arms, burying his face into his hair. He smells like chamomile blossoming in the sun.

Viktor’s arms wrap around him tight, clutching at him desperately. His chest has started heaving. Yuuri takes slow and deep breaths as Viktor’s hitch wildly. Yuuri’s caught underneath a single cloud, and Viktor’s tears soak through to his bones. He feels them slick and sliding down his chest. Viktor’s face is pressed there so closely that Yuuri’s heart seems to quiver with every shaking gasp. Yuuri closes his eyes. His breathing comes slower, and with time, Viktor’s falls in sync. 

They breathe this cycle until they breathe as one, and when Viktor begins to calm, Yuuri allows himself to finally speak.

He won’t ask him what’s wrong. He won’t ask if there’s anything he can do. The answers to either of those questions are lost among the clouds, among the stars, and Yuuri has no need for them. Small and distant stars don’t mean a thing. Not when Yuuri has the sun.

“I had a dream about Makkachin. He was flying. Wouldn’t that be funny? If Makkachin flew, we wouldn’t have to walk him.”

Viktor says nothing, but Yuuri continues.

“Well, uh, I guess we’d have to fly him, then? I’m sorry, I didn’t really think this through.”

Still nothing. Yuuri continues to ramble. There’s really nothing for him to say. But he knows that Viktor wants to hear his voice.

“Vicchan was there, too. I wish you could have met him, you would have loved him. I always secretly hoped that you would.”

There’s a shift in the silence. It’s almost imperceptible, but Yuuri can sense it. Viktor is listening. Intently. Yuuri takes a steady breath.

“U-um, I’m sorry, myshka, that was really a downer, wasn’t it? I can think of something better, I promise.”

He feels Viktor’s fingers twitch, and his body inches closer.

“I can’t remember much else. Just bits and pieces. Oh, I think I remember us being in Barcelona again. Wouldn’t that be nice? We should take another trip there when we can. We can,” he pauses, blushing hard,” we can, um, visit the cathedral. The, uh, what is it, again? Catedral de... de la-”

“Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulàlia,” Viktor rattles off in perfect Catalan. His voice is muffled into Yuuri’s collarbone, and Yuuri tries not to shiver at the sensation.

“Yes,” he says gently, smiling down at him. Viktor has a gift for languages. It’s one of the many talents Viktor has that Yuuri is in awe of. He kisses the top of his head, and Viktor makes a small sound as he curls up into him.

“Tell me more,” he says very quietly.

And Yuuri does. They lay like this for quite a while, Yuuri whispering softly, words that mean nothing and everything. He’d lose his voice a thousand times just to see Viktor smile. Just to hear him laugh. To hear him sing.

Viktor likes to sing sometimes. Usually absently. He’ll sing under his breath as he cooks or cleans, or in the bath as he soaks in scented oils. He often sings in languages Yuuri doesn’t know. Yuuri thinks it’s better that way. He doesn’t need to understand.

“Can you sing for me today, moya ptichka?”

Viktor had been slowly drawing back to look at Yuuri as he spoke. He pauses now, and Yuuri tries to parse swirling icy mists for signs of life. He can’t quite decide on what he sees before Viktor opens his mouth again.

He sings very quietly, his gaze seeming to drift in one direction while his voice drifts in another. His lashes brush his cheeks as he closes his eyes.

Viktor sings in Italian. Yuuri knows this song very well.

He searches Viktor’s face as he sings. He searches for any sorrow. Any loneliness. Any bitterness. He can’t find any of those things, but he can’t find joy, either. He can’t find anything at all. He reaches for his hand, bringing the gold ring to his lips for a gentle kiss. Viktor’s voice cracks and falters, and Yuuri feels him begin to tremble again.

Yuuri kisses his hair, his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks, and finally the lips that now come to a quivering stop. He can still taste the salt of his tears. But there’s something so sweet about the way his lips press back, and when firm and warm hands slip under his shirt to pull him closer, Yuuri shudders hard.

They kiss slowly, drawing on each other’s lips like men dying of thirst, desperate but savoring every last drop. Viktor presses closer, and there’s an urgency that Yuuri feels radiate from him in a dizzying burst. He gasps softly into Viktor’s mouth, and Viktor pulls back to suddenly nibble his nose.

Yuuri tries his best not to snort into his mouth in surprise. Viktor kisses him again, and Yuuri feels the smile he’s been waiting all morning for. The smile he’s willing to wait all of his life for.

He’s breathless as they pull away completely now, and he braces himself as he’s caught up in something vast and deep and blue.

“Good morning, zolotse,” Viktor whispers, and there’s a sign of something in his eyes. Yuuri thinks it’s happiness, but he knows it’s only temporary. He doesn’t mind. He’ll make sure it stays. He won’t ever let it leave Viktor’s side.

“It’s almost noon, zaychik,” Yuuri says with a sly grin, and he laughs when Viktor scrunches up his nose like a rabbit. Viktor likes to do this whenever Yuuri calls him cute pet names. Yuuri kisses his nose, and Viktor scrunches it up again.

“Can we take a bath? I want to sing to you some more.”

He says this almost shyly, and Yuuri feels an overwhelming and sudden rush of emotions as he takes his hand to kiss his ring again. He looks up into eyes like clear skies and sunny afternoons, and he finally allows himself to float.

“Yes, Viktor. Sing to me, and please don’t ever stop.”


End file.
